Take it easy on me

We were on his bed. The door was closed. The Eagles Greatest Hit CD, our go to make-out soundtrack,  was on the stereo and RJ’s mouth had found that perfect spot on my neck, the triangle of lust. “You have no idea what that does to me!” I said, while inhaling the scent of Tide from his shirt.

“Oh, but I do. That’s why I’m doing it.” He looked up long enough to say that and then went right back to that magic spot.

I had real feelings for this boy, as real as they could possibly be when I was 15, but, because I was chasing normal, I was dating his best friend,  Rickthedick (not his real name).  He had a “normal” family, with married parents and everything.  RJ, like me, had divorced parents and all of the drama that goes with that.  So, even though I liked him so much more, I was officially the dick’s girlfriend.

RJ and I went to the same school and rode the same bus.  That’s where we met, the bus stop, on the first day of tenth grade.  I was still sad that my summer boyfriend had gone back to his home state.  Florida was just a place to vacation for him. Once I got to talking to RJ, though, I wasn’t sad anymore.

At this moment in time, in RJ’s room, I was not thinking of summer boy at all. I was just thinking about how bad I wanted to just be RJ’s girlfriend and do the thing that I had never done before.  So, when he looked at me with those deep brown eyes and asked, “you want to?” I answered the only way I knew I had to.

“Do you have a condom?” I was really hoping the answer was yes. 

It wasn’t.  The answer was, “Don’t you want to take a chance?”

A chance? My official answer was, “um, no.” What went through my head was the fact that my mom took a chance when she was a teen and ended up with my brother, a kid she no longer had custody of by choice, a shitty, abusive marriage, and me, the baby she became pregnant with while she was on the pill. No. No chances here, sir.

This irritated RJ. I thought it was just blue ball frustration. I would learn more later. “Can you at least blow me?”

Again, “um, no” was my official answer, but my brain went back to that damn recliner at my grandmother’s house in Peoria, IL.  This was where I had first been forced to perform fellatio on my step-uncle at age two.

This was not the answer RJ wanted.  “Come on! I’ll do it to you, too!”

Oh god.  This was not the consolation prize he thought it was.  I instantly thought of how disgusting I felt.  I was gross. Dirty.  I couldn’t let his face near there.  Couldn’t we just keep going with this neck and Eagles thing? My verbal reply was, “Um, no. I need to shower and stuff.”

RJ was very accommodating.  “My bathroom is right there! You can use my shower.”  He jumped up, opened his bedroom door, and pointed towards the bathroom.

Spoiler alert: I didn’t have sex, oral or otherwise, with RJ that day, or any other day.  I was kind of disappointed because I had wanted him to be my “real” boyfriend and be the first. 

Months later, while out with friends, I got drunk on citrus wine coolers and had horrible backseat sex with someone I had just met.  Marco.  He had a condom. That’s all I know about him.  I cried after and felt like a whore.   I had wanted it to be special.

Shortly after that, someone clued me in on something I did not know about the whole RJ and Rickthedick situation. They had a bet. I’m not sure how much money was at stake, but it didn’t matter.  Whoever had sex with me first was the “winner.”  No one won that bet. It was never going to be special, anyway.